Dress You Up In My Love
by Michelle My Belle
Summary: The clothes make the man. His love makes the woman. (Lizzington fluff)


A belated Happy Valentine's Day to my fellow shippers! General disclaimers apply.

* * *

With luggage in hand, she headed out of the airport and hailed a taxi. She was too impatient for the train after this trip. Jet lag had never hit her this hard.

Sinking into the back of the taxi, Liz reclined her weary head back and stared out into the traffic, or anything really, anything that could take her mind off Uzbekistan. Off of him. This case would certainly stand out in her memory among all others, she was certain of that. Not for the obvious reasons. Yes, it was out of the ordinary that the team would find themselves the unwanted guests in a foreign country, being so closely watched by a rogue faction and a fledgling government, alike. It was even more uncommon to find themselves not capturing or killing the latest name on the Blacklist, but to end up helping him get the best revenge. Sure, Denisov would pay for his crimes, but when? She had to let go of this. It was out of the FBI's hands now.

There was more to blame on this new level of exhaustion than mere jet lag. She was totally discounting the exhaustion brought about by emotional turmoil, fighting what she knew in her heart to be true with black and white facts, like the scientist she was. Red was clearly more comfortable living in all the shades of grey in between. Comfortable with what he was, and she realized that over time, she was becoming like him, too.

The warring thoughts that bounced off every corner of her mind would keep the memory of this trip from sinking to the background. The mercy of forgetfulness was all she wanted. She wanted to forget the tango, the heat she saw between the dancers, how, when looking at their violent desire for one another, all she saw was her and Red. This dance they have been doing for over a year. A dizzying combination of staccato and legato steps, spins and hesitation.

She could feel the tension creep up her neck from clenching her jaw. She needed to relax, nothing was going to be solved this way. The taxi pulled up to her apartment and delivered her and her bags to the door. Hefting her bag once more, she dragged herself up the stairs to her door, tired feet nearly giving out. After the long trip, she was so ready to sink into a hot bath with a very large glass of wine and try to unwind.

The warmth of the water was soothing to her aching muscles, but did nothing to slow the anxious conversation in her mind. She couldn't keep avoiding him forever, avoiding his calls, even avoiding innocent Dembe. It was Saturday. One more day until she would have to report back to the office and find out what kind of case he was bringing to the team this week. One more day of hiding out from him, one more day of missing him, his presence, the intensity of everything about him. She swallowed hard at admitting to herself that she missed him. The arduous task of trying to stay distant and cold toward him was taking everything she had and fighting against all that she truly needed.

She dried off and padded out to her sofa to finish out her day doing as little as possible when she saw an ivory linen card on the floor near the door. She almost missed it. Bending down to retrieve the envelope, she recognized his handwriting in crimson ink immediately. She opened the envelope expectantly, wondering why he chose to write her. There were his words:

_Dear Elizabeth, _

_I know things have been strained between us. It's why I'm not standing here now. I want to give you all the space you need. I know that no matter what I say, no matter how many times I may try to convince you of my true intentions toward you – you as a person, as a woman – that my actions have seemingly betrayed me when viewed singularly and not as the sum of my whole heart that is always for you and could never be against you. I hope this gesture will serve as a stepping stone toward proving that I am what I say I am: a man who has and will always do anything for you. _

_There is a box in the hall for you. I hope you will open it and keep reading._

She set the note down on her coffee table and went to check the hallway. A white box with a silk red ribbon was sitting at her door. She carefully pulled the ribbon open and lifted the lid. She shook her head and smiled. A deep red velvet gown and matching clutch lay on top.

_I love it when you wear red, for more than the obvious reason that you look stunning in it. I've noticed you wear more of it lately and, while you could put a burlap bag on and still command my undivided attention, it's red that causes my wretched heart to race. In my selfish and wicked mind, you wear that red blouse just for me. If you'd do me the honor, I'd love to treat you to a quiet dinner so we can talk privately, and if you'd indulge me, I'd be the luckiest man alive if you would wear this red gown._

Lifting the gown from the box, she noticed there was more. The most beautiful silk lingerie she had ever seen. But, she had, in fact, seen it before.

_I caught you looking at this ivory silk corset that day we walked by La Perla. I know you would never buy it for yourself, but I wanted you to have it. I want you to have the world, Elizabeth, and I will give it to you if you will only let me. I know we have far to go, but I'll wait, as long as it takes. If you will join me for dinner, I'll be back at 7. _

_All you have to do is open your door. –Red_

Dismissing for a moment that he had taken the time to purchase extravagant lingerie for her and what that meant, she allowed the first real tears to fall in weeks. She wasn't sad this time. Not angry, bitter or confused. For the first time in ages, she shed tears of joy.

She took the box to her bedroom, having only an hour to dress and pin her hair up perfectly. She wanted everything to be perfect. Standing in front of a full length mirror, she realized she hardly recognized this new woman, wearing more than a month's salary. This woman was elegant in the fitted gown, pooling around her feet. This woman no longer showed the visible scars of a divorcee, but was clothed in confidence and strength.

She had yet to put her shoes on, but something was still missing. The knock at the door nearly startled her. He was always on time.

Raymond stood on the other side of the door in his signature tux clutching a bouquet of white tulips, her favorite.

"Lizzie, truly, there are no words," he said, his voice low and husky.

She stepped toward him still carrying her heels. He held up a black velvet box.

"That is truly an exquisite dress, but it is missing just one last thing," he said handing her the box. Trembling, she reached out for it and opened it, her breath catching. Inside, lay the most decadent and exquisite triple strand pearl necklace she had ever laid eyes on. She bit her bottom lip and looked up to meet his gaze, praying that the glossy glaze of unshed tears would go unnoticed.

"May I?"

Nodding silently, she turned to give him access to put the necklace on her. It was long enough to easily fit over her head, but still he unclasped it and pulled it around her, clasping it in place at the base of her neck. His warm fingers brushed the sensitive skin there sending electricity through her. He had touched her so many times, but this was different. It wasn't the usual consoling or friendly touch, but heavy with intent, with unspoken want. She could feel his hot breath on her exposed shoulders. Both relished in the closeness for a moment, however remaining still, unwilling to make the next move. A stale mate could easily be called the way these two held out.

Feeling a little brave, she tilted her head slightly, giving him permission and plenty of room to move in. Before they missed another chance, he stepped even closer and slid his hands from her neck down her nearly bare back to her waist and rest his hands there as he moved in and placed his lips gently behind her ear. Her scent was heady, thrilling him. He placed several more light kisses down her neck and nuzzled into her warmth. Her moans of pleasure did not go unnoticed. He slid his hands further around her in response.

"Raymond, we still have so much to talk about," she managed, breathless. They were so close, she could feel his heart beating against her. Beating for her.

He turned her toward him, taking both her hands in his and kissing them, eyes never leaving hers.

"I'm not going anywhere, Lizzie, I am all yours. For as long as you'll put up with me," he was beaming at her now. Pulling her toward him and wrapping his arms around her, he leaned in for their first kiss. It was cautious at first, then both partners yearning for more.

Things would work out. She was sure of it, and finally, completely sure of him.


End file.
